“But of course, Madame,” said the girl, distantly. As she walked away, Sophie examined her. She was wearing a plain white blouse and navy skirt, tights, and pumps, but the top button on her blouse was frayed, and there was a dusty smudge on the waistband of the skirt. The display case hid her legs, or Sophie would have looked for ladders.

Angered, she glanced down at the merchandise, and softened a little. Yes, the pieces were very fine, still. This side of the case was obviously the cheaper rings: smaller stones, less ornamentation. Nevertheless, each piece was beautiful. Massot used good stones, nothing worse than very slightly included diamonds, and each coloured gem had to be translucent. Sophie admired the stock. Their cutters still used the more expensive methods, old mine-cut and rose-cut diamonds, and there were unusual designs on the shanks, engravings of leaves, and serpents.

Not that you could pick much of this out. The beige velvet of the background did not show off the stones; there was no light on them to make them sparkle, and there were too many pieces, too close. To someone less interested than she, Sophie knew, they would all blend into one, a pretty, glittering blur, but nothing remarkable; no single jewel would stay with you.

She moved on round the room, methodically examining each case. Bracelets, earrings, brooches, necklaces, even a few tiaras. House Massot did not go in for anything else. There were no anklets, no toe rings, nothing indecorous. But the stock there was glorious, things she would have worn with delight—though everywhere shown to least advantage.

Sophie lifted her head from the last case, containing a set of very beautiful fire opal and orange zircon necklaces, bold and imaginative pieces all jumbled together, and dull against the beige. She would have chosen a dark green damask to set off so much fire. She looked around the showroom. The four window-shoppers had left, and it was now completely empty.

Sophie regarded the small knot of staff evenly. They were now chatting with each other, ignoring her. Sophie noted sloppiness of dress in each of them: the men had ties loose, or not even present; the other women had on too much makeup, in one case, and straggly hair, in another.

The door to rue Faubourg opened and a young woman came in. She was wearing a Burberry coat, and Sophie could see a flash of neat tights—no ladders—and smart blue leather heels. She walked straight into the back, and reemerged a second later. Sophie watched as she marched up to the other staff and said something sharp in a low tone, nodding towards Sophie. The first girl responded—rudely, from her manner—and the young woman, smoothing down her dress, hurried out from behind the counter to Sophie.